


Survive The Hunger

by baeberiibungh



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Obsessive Hannibal, POV Hannibal, Set in mid S1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 15:08:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5338607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baeberiibungh/pseuds/baeberiibungh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal is lusting after Will...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Survive The Hunger

Hannibal had come to terms with his dreams a long time ago. Sometimes he sees faceless people who pick him up and he gets a whiff of something both familiar and long forgotten and knows that it is his mother. Sometimes the smell is that of woodsy smoke and old spine crinkled leather bound books in musty corners. Then there is the smell of crisp air, of plums and sweat and he recognises it as his father. Mischa is harder, blood sweeping through his dreams about her and he remembers her face no better than he does his dead parents. And it is ok, the memories of those scents and perfumes linger and make him want to torch a part of the world bare, but it is still ok.

The more recent dreams at first feature wide eyes, and black curls that never stay in his grasp. Lips show too, bending in soft smiles with teeth peaking below. A neck, delicate and creamy, turned away from him. He puts his hand there and the person turns, but he never sees the face. He feels weight and heat leaning into him and words whispered that goes buzzing and slipping in his sleep like a silken cloth through jagged rocks – some sounds snag but nothing concrete remains. Hannibal cups the curves and fingers the edges and he feels himself satiated as if after a delicious meal, made just for him, by some divinely gifted chef.

When Hannibal wakes from the later dreams, he has to brush his mouth twice for he can still feel the froth of heavy cream on his tongue. He knows the moment he wakes up just who was it he saw even though he never got to see the face. Hannibal had looked at Will enough by now so that his profile was recognisable from any angle to him. He would carry these images, kept fresh and soft like flowers from a beloved hidden in favourite books, and go to see Will. Will who would stand in his sweaty shirt and stained jacket and lost eyes and quivering lips and Hannibal would want with an intense need he doesn’t remember experiencing before. 

Will is unique, Will is human, Will is weak, Will is a treasure. Hannibal sheds philosophical petals off imaginary flowers while he tries to ascertain as to how to get to Will, how to get him to look at Hannibal and even more important, reply the need Hannibal felt for Will in equal measure. Hannibal was a diabolical man, but he was more a greedy glutton who wanted to have and own Will from the tips of his sweat curled hair to the end of his toes of his scruffy shoes in this matter. He hungered, plain and simple, and he made up grand plans to have him one way or another.

Sometimes he would clutch his blond hair in his hands and jerk himself, wondering why he was willing to be careless when it came to Will. Will was an empath of unbelievable capacity. That was the lure, that was the light shinning in the dark at the bottom of the sea while a huge teethed mouth waited to devour him raw. But what else? What else? His dreams were of no help here, jubilant as a juvenile in love, that collected sights and colours of Will with a gleeful wilderness. Nothing was too good, nothing too ordinary about him. And Hannibal spent days hunched over his table drafting tributes to this petite man who had stolen the sense right out of his brain merely by existing.

Every time he neared Will or had to sit all nonchalantly while Will rambled on about the misfortunes of his quaint conscious, Hannibal had to make an effort not to shove the table away and then shove Will onto the table and have his way with him. Will never came to know how easily he broke and continued to break the boundaries and walls Hannibal had constructed. He even invaded Hannibal’s memory palace, infusing his being into Hannibal’s unconscious, so that he was always inhumanely conscious of the man. Who, be he man, demon or angel could have survived such allure? Hannibal changed his posture, his arms wider, his shoulders down and poise replaced by a coy openness that Will was unable not to respond to.

After that it became easy, so easy. To part through the physical space Will insisted on everyone and step to his side, rubbing his arms with the fabric of his coat and the imprint of his hands falling on his body. It became a dance. The two would talk, near and intimate, one would lean in, saying something, the other would lean more in result and when Will would turn, Hannibal would always made sure to occupy the space that Will had just vacated, swimming in his lingering body heat and the weird mix of scents he always he gave off. He would place himself opposite to how Will had stood, and would inhale the air in a deep breath, the idea that he was tasting the inside of Will’s mouth on the borrowed air almost sure and certain.

His hands would rise of their own violation and Hannibal would rub his own arms, trying to mimic the false and phantom feel of Will on them. Whenever he did, whenever he went, Will was at the back of his mind, not a still frame of what he looks, but a live model as he sees him and he is overwhelmed. The first time he calls Will for dinner at his place and Will accepts, Hannibal licks Will's dirty spoon clean in the kitchen after and sits in the chair Will sat while he has the last drink of the night. It is an obsession now, making him take steps and engage with the justice system in a very dangerous way. Because the end prize, according to him, is Will, he trudges on.

People die, get reported, Jack bellows, Price, Zeller and Katz rush about while thinking of possible explanation and solutions while Will sits in a corner and sees everything except the face he is supposed to identify. And later, when he goes to Hannibal’s and doesn’t sit in the corner for Hannibal will not forgive such a thing, Hannibal smiles and makes promises to himself about how he will not hunger for long now.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I can be found sometimes at evermoringlyfine. Unbetaed.


End file.
